


a working relationship

by ignitesthestars



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/F, Friends to Lovers, Kissing, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-27
Updated: 2016-06-27
Packaged: 2018-07-18 16:51:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7323190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ignitesthestars/pseuds/ignitesthestars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sharon doesn’t <em>mean</em> to start having feelings for the Black Widow.</p><p>‘Having feelings’. It sounds so...tepid. Maybe that’s why she uses the term, corralling her emotions into something boring and easy to ignore. You can have feelings for pretty much anything. Sharon has had, at various moments in her life, strong feelings about HYDRA, her cat, the very concept of kale chips (an abomination).</p><p>Natasha Romanoff is just another category to slot emotions into. And if some of those emotions involve peeling off that damn catsuit - honestly, Sharon is a little uncomfortable with her own objectification of the other woman, but that's all it has to mean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a working relationship

Sharon doesn’t _mean_ to start having feelings for the Black Widow.

‘Having feelings’. It sounds so...tepid. Maybe that’s why she uses the term, corralling her emotions into something boring and easy to ignore. You can have feelings for pretty much anything. Sharon has had, at various moments in her life, strong feelings about HYDRA, her cat, the very concept of kale chips (an abomination).

Natasha Romanoff is just another category to slot emotions into. And if some of those emotions involve peeling off that damn catsuit - honestly, Sharon is a little uncomfortable with her own objectification of the other woman, but that's all it has to mean. It doesn’t have to have anything to do with her competence, her compassion. Especially not that second one. Sharon suspects she would rather hold a knife to someone’s throat than admit it.

Spies aren’t supposed to have soft parts. Sharon, who can’t seem to stop acting on instruction from her heart over her head lately, knows that better than most.

“You hungry?”

She clears her throat for no discernible reason, glancing sidelong at the other woman in the car. Not a hair out of place. Sharon can’t decide if she wants to be Natasha, or--

“I could eat,” she admits. “Maybe after we hand this guy over, though?”

She jerks her thumb towards the trunk, where a certified Bad Guy is currently tied up. There's a quiet horror in her gut at the ease with which the whole thing had gone down, at the nonchalance with which she considers all-day breakfast alongside kidnapping.

“You work too hard, Sharon,” Natasha says, the dryness in her tone telling the story of a woman who never stops. She isn’t sure which one of them it's about.

“So the world tells me. Drop off point's coming up.” 

Probably unnecessary to say, but it keeps the _how do you keep going_ out of her throat. Natasha hums agreeably, and they roll into a seemingly abandoned warehouse. The handover goes off without a hitch, because they're professionals and they work too hard.

Their fingers brush before they get in the car. Natasha never does anything unintentionally, particularly when it comes to motion. Sharon might be reading too much into this, but her pulse flutters behind the memory of pressure on her wrist.

The doors slam shut.

“I could murder a McMuffin,” Sharon sighs, and Natasha leans over the handbrake to kiss her.

She waits a beat for surprise to kick in, to take over. It’s there in the sharp intake of breath that whistles between her teeth before she kisses back, but it doesn’t taste the way you’d thing. Surprise that it’s _happening_ , maybe, that soft lips ease over hers, that heat curls in her gut like a lazy wisp of steam.

But not surprise that it could happen. Not shock that Natasha would dare to do this, that she’d want to. It’s the difference between pushing away and pressing closer, between staring in shock and hooking her hand around the nape of her neck, thumb sliding over naked skin.

It feels inevitable.

Sharon’s not familiar with Natasha’s pulse. But she thinks it might have ticked up. Just a bit.


End file.
